


It could have been me

by provencepuss



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 15:58:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/provencepuss/pseuds/provencepuss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>this is inspired from a moment in Starsky vs Hutch and pulls on my fanon of Starsky's military past</p>
            </blockquote>





	It could have been me

**Author's Note:**

> This story is inspired by a moment in Starsky

_Note: This story is inspired by a moment in “Starsky Vs Hutch”. After the grenade explodes Starsky is seen sitting on the floor looking pensive.  
The story intervenes between that scene and the tag)  
There are references to some of my earlier stories about Starsky’s army years._

  
Prologue

  
Starsky sat staring at Joey as he lay immobile on the ground. Kira was talking to him gently – maybe the bitch had a good streak after all.   
Hutch glanced over at his partner and saw the troubled look in his eyes.  _Oh shit, what’s triggered that off?_

Starsky pulled himself up to his feet and watched Hutch stand up. They were both a little stunned by the aftershock of the blast. Hutch smiled and patted his friend’s shoulder.  
“Nice shot buddy.” Starsky looked at him blankly. “What? Oh yeah I guess….” He walked away leaving Hutch standing beside Kira and Joey.

Hutch flipped out his cuffs and out of the corner of his eye he saw Starsky flinch and turn to leave the dance hall. He recited Miranda as he attached Joey’s hands behind his back then helped the crippled man to his feet.  
Joey didn’t seem aware of what was happening to him anyway.  
“You figure you can handle him alone?” he said to Kira trying to keep the distaste he felt for her out of his voice.  
She smiled that sly knowing smile that had fooled both Starsky and Hutch and nearly destroyed everything that eleven years had built up between them.  
“Of course I can Hutch. Why don’t you go see if  _you_  can handle Starsky?” the way she emphasized the second ‘you’ made Hutch want to slap her face there and then. He turned away and made his way outside.

 

**************************************************

Starsky was leaning on the Torino; he had his weight on his butt and his legs were crossed at the ankles, he had his arms folded across his chest and Hutch could see that he was staring into a distance far, far away from where there were now. Hutch’s ears were buzzing so he figured Starsky’s would be too. But he noticed that Starsky’s eyes were red and wet…the acrid smoke of the explosion was probably to blame but Hutch wasn’t one hundred percent convinced.   
Ever since Starsky had arrived just as Hutch was leaving Kira’s bedroom the situation between them had been taut as a bow-string and Hutch felt like he was juggling eggs whenever he spoke to his friend. Now he could see that Starsky was brooding over something more than the explosion. He touched his partner’s arm gently.   
Starsky turned his face to Hutch but he didn’t seem to be looking at him; his eyes were out of focus and he looked tired to the depths of his soul.  
“Hey buddy, do you want to talk about it?”  
“No.”  
Starsky turned and opened the door; Hutch ran round to his side of the car and managed to slip into his seat and pull the door closed as Starsky gunned the engine. Hutch fell back against the seat and swore softly. Starsky took no notice. He drove doggedly, like a man concentrating on an unknown road through the fog. Hutch decided that the best thing was to wait.

Starsky pulled up outside the precinct entrance. Once again it seemed his guardian angel had kept a spot for him. He was out of the car and halfway up the steps before Hutch had time to quip about it. Hutch followed and watched as Starsky walked along the hallway to the squad room. Starsky’s body language was eloquent. He was walking head slightly down; shoulders hunched and his strange gait was more obvious than usual, Hutch thought he must have hurt his leg as he threw himself to the ground. But what Hutch really perceived was that his friend was in mental pain – some deep-rooted anguish that had nothing to do with their rivalry over Kira.  
 _Rivalry? I don’t really want her; she’s a good lay but….but Starsky thought she was in love with him!_

Starsky slumped onto his chair and sighed. Hutch checked two mugs for stale remains and fluff before sniffing the coffee pot. Starsky took his without looking and sniffed it carefully before screwing up his nose and pushing it away. Hutch sipped his coffee; it seemed OK to him. Starsky watched him carefully for a second, shook his head and sighed again.  
“I dunno how you can drink that stuff,” he said.   
Kira was leading her prisoner along the hallway. Starsky stood up abruptly.  
“I’m going home.” He said and walked out of the room, pushing past Kira and Joey without even looking at her. Hutch shook his head.  
“Take him straight down to be booked.” He said. “Then bring me the paperwork to sign.

Starsky drove home and the voice in his head was screaming:  _it could have been me._  
He parked under the big eucalyptus tree that looked like it was holding up the house and ran up the stairs.  
 _It could have been me….but I’m running up these stairs aren’t I?_  
He closed the door behind him and mechanically removed his jacket and holster. The heat behind his eyes was blinding him; he went to the water cooler in his kitchen and drank down two glasses. His head was throbbing; his ears were still buzzing from the blast and the nausea was rising in his gullet burning bile against his throat.   
His instinct was to walk away from this one, to let Hutch deal with it alone; he didn’t want to be involved. But he knew he couldn’t leave things as they were; something was telling him that the case wasn’t over yet.   
He decided to kill the headache and try to get some sleep. In the past few days they hadn’t had much chance of that – staking out the dancehall and then the blondes who worked there. Staking out Kira…Starsky replayed the scene for the umpteenth time. Kira’s smile fading as she opened the door, Hutch’s sheepish look as he buttoned his shirt, and the thump of their bodies as Starsky rammed his partner against the wall in blind fury. He took a bottle of pills from the bathroom cabinet and shook one into the palm of his hand; he looked at it for a second and added a second. He threw them to the back of his throat and gulped water from the faucet to sluice them down. He undressed and piled dirty underwear into the chute; he sniffed his T-shirt and sent that down to the garage too. His jeans could stand another day or two.  
He wandered into his bedroom and climbed into bed; pulling the covers up around his ears as if trying to cocoon himself against the world.

**********************************************************************

 

Hutch watched Starsky disappear down the hallway and decided to leave him alone. He followed Kira down to the booking hall and watched as she led Joey as gently as possible to the desk. She guided his fingers to the ink pad and smiled at him when he was photographed; Joey resisted her charms by staring blankly into space.

“Name?”  
“Sergeant Webster Joseph 5633498 US Army.”  
“Address?”  
“Sergeant Webster Joseph 5633498 US Army”  
The booking officer rolled his eyes. Hutch swore under his breath and strode away before the temptation to throw a punch at this stubborn bastard got too much for him. Kira ran after him but Hutch ignored her pleas to “slow down Hutch; we need to talk about this mess.”  
 _Talk about it, she wants to talk about it! Doesn’t she realize how close she came to ripping our friendship apart?_  
He went back up to the second floor and stuck his head round Dobey’s door. “He’s doing the name rank and serial number routine, Captain. Starsky already went home and I’m beat too.”  
“Go home and get some rest Hutch. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

Driving home Hutch considered a detour via The Pits but he knew he was too tired even for that. He drove home carefully; the stairs up to his apartment seemed steeper than ever. ‘Maybe we really are beginning to get too old for this crap,’ he muttered as he opened the door.  
He took a beer bottle into the bathroom and finished it while standing under the shower. Starsky’s voice echoed in his head.  _“Didn’t your momma ever tell you not to take your drinking glass into the bathroom; suppose you dropped it and stepped on it?”  
“What about the glass I keep my toothbrush in Starsk – you too!”  
“That’s different; you don’t get drunk with a tooth glass.”_  
Starsky’s irrepressible logic won out yet again – until the day they both got smashed in a motel room hiding from a hit man who was after their skins.

Hutch finished the beer as he went into his bedroom. He put the empty bottle on the night stand and fell into the unmade bed. He couldn’t remember when he’d last slept in his own bed; and certainly not when he last straightened it!  
It had been a long day and Starsky’s anger didn’t help; neither did his brooding reaction to the outcome in the dancehall. Hutch was ready to help his best friend fight whatever the demons were – but he’d known Starsky for a long time now and he couldn’t really expect things to change. He could only help if Starsky was willing to let him in; and right now the doors were all slamming in his face like the opening sequence of the spoof spy series re-runs that Starsky had insisted on watching a few weeks ago.

  
***********************************************************

 

Captain Harold C. Dobey had been a cop long enough to know when his men needed a rest. Starsky and Hutch were his best; a team that could only be bettered by the Dodgers on a good day. He’d watched the partnership develop over the years since the fiery young detective Dave Starsky had nagged and pleaded with him to take Hutchinson onto his team when he finally passed his detective exams. Dobey watched them with interest over the years. Starsky had made detective on skill and instinct; he was perfectly capable of passing the exams but that hadn’t been necessary; the Chief of Police had promoted him after a spectacular arrest. Hutchinson was a good cop too; but he lacked the quixotic flair that his friend showed and he had to get to detective by the usual route. As soon as he was eligible to take the exam he did and came top of the list. Dobey never regretted giving into Starsky’s pleading.  
The two men had little or nothing in common but they formed a partnership as solid as Dobey’s happy marriage. Hutchinson was an educated middle-class boy from a good home in the Mid-west; a copy-book cool WASP type. He’d dropped out of college and drifted to California with a money-grabbing wife in tow. After she left him, he applied to the Academy. Dave Starsky was his opposite. Bright and mercurial in his mood swings he had managed to graduate High School and finished his education on the streets and in the jungle. His rise to detective was, as he said, another field promotion. He’d gone to Viet Nam a ‘grunt’ and returned a Lieutenant. Dobey remembered with amusement the day Hutch discovered that his friend had been an officer. Dobey had read the files but he was pretty sure that Starsky had never told Hutch how he got to Lieutenant.

There was one other thing that set the two young men apart: their time-keeping. Dobey looked at Hutch and then at his watch and grunted. Starsky was an uncharacteristic half hour late.   
“You’d better call him and make sure he’s OK, Hutch.”  
“Maybe you should call him Captain.” Hutch shifted his weight and Dobey sensed trouble.  
“Are you two still sore with each other about that woman?” Hutch stared at his hands.  
“Well let me tell you something Hutch,  _get over it_!” He barked the last three words and made Hutch jump. Dobey handed him the receiver and dialed Starsky’s number.  
Hutch listened to the phone ringing long enough to know that Starsky wasn’t going to answer. He replaced it on the cradle. “I get the feeling he’s home but didn’t want to answer.”  
A minute later the ‘phone rang and Dobey nodded to Hutch to take the call.  
“Starsk?”  
“Yeah, I was in the bathroom. I figured Dobey was looking for me.”  
“Why aren’t you here?”  
“Because I just came out of the bathroom.”  
Hutch rolled his eyes. “Very funny.”  
“Yeah, I thought it was a good line too,” Starsky chuckled then continued, “tell Dobey I’ll be there in forty minutes, OK.”  
Hutch replaced the phone again and relayed the message to Dobey. He stood up. “I have some paper work to deal with.”

Webster’s file was waiting for him on his desk. He dealt with a few other things before he picked it up and rubbed a hand over his face. Before he could deal with this he needed more coffee; he poured himself a mug without even bothering to check if the pot was still hot and sat down again, the first sip burned his mouth and he swore under his breath. The file was thin. It contained Kira’s write up of the arrest and the rap sheet for what it was worth; Webster had continued to repeat his name rank and serial number.  
Hutch threw his mug across the room. “Shit!” The noise brought Dobey out of his office and the bemused detectives in the squad room listened as Hutch explained his rage.  
“Dammit Captain. This bastard murdered three women and was prepared to blow up a dance hall full of people and his lawyer will pull the insanity clause and he’ll get away with it; it’s not fair!.”  
“He’s a Vet, Hutch; he probably went through….”  
“That’s no excuse; plenty of them went through hell but they didn’t come back and start murdering clip-joint dancers for the color of their hair; they went back to their jobs and their families or….”  
“Or they ran with the mob for a while before going straight and joining the good guys.” Starsky’s voice was tinged with amusement. Hutch looked up to see his partner standing in the doorway. Starsky stooped to pick up a piece of smashed mug and then collected the rest of the remains as best he could before throwing them in the waste basket.  
“Hey tantrums are my trademark; find one of your own” he said as he settled to perch on the back of his chair. He looked at Hutch with a smile playing on his lips; but his eyes weren’t laughing.  
His voice faltered when he spoke again. “I don’t know what they taught you when you were a kid but roses have thorns and cherries have stones and life isn’t always fair. Who knows how I might have turned out if I hadn’t had the support from my family and friends that I got when I came back. Have you ever thought about that?”

He leaned forward and picked up the file. “Not exactly heavy reading is it?” he said with a sigh. “Come on; let’s go see if he feels like talking this morning.”  
Hutch shook his head wearily. “What makes you think he will?”  
“Dunno; but it’s worth a try.”

  
Webster was lying on a cot in the holding cell. His semi-paralyzed leg was hanging awkwardly off the side, he had one arm folded behind his head and he was smoking.  
The officer in charge of the holding cells beckoned them over to one side. “He ain’t faking it, but he’s not nuts either.” Hutch asked him what he meant. The other cop spoke more to Starsky than to Hutch. Most of the precinct knew that Starsky had been injured in the war.  
“He’s doing the classic POW thing. Blanking everything else out and just giving the basic information. I’ll bet he’s already blanked out what he did to get arrested.”  
Starsky nodded. “You could be right Pete.” He shrugged. “No point in pushing it if he isn’t going to respond.” He turned to leave the holding area.

Hutch had to quicken his step to keep up with Starsky; despite his extra couple of inches in height his natural loping gait was not adapted to Starsky in a hurry. His partner was already running down the first flight of the stairs back down to the squad room level of the building.  
“Starsk!”  
Starsky stopped and turned. “Yeah?”  
“What approach were you thinking of?”  
“Dunno.” Starsky grinned. “I though maybe the brains of the outfit was going to tell me.”  
“And in return you would apply your not inconsiderable brawn, is that right?”  
“No; the last thing he needs is to be roughed about.” Starsky scuttled down the rest of the stairs and disappeared into the men’s room.

Hutch stood by his desk and picked up the file again; he was staring at it as if maybe it would tell him something when Dobey called him into his office.  
“We have a lead. A hooker recognized Webster on the TV news; he’s her neighbor.” Dobey handed him a slip of paper. “Get over there and see if you can find anything to help this case along.”  
Hutch looked at the address; it was one of the sleazier backstreets not far from the boulevard that tourists expect to be paved with gold and discover is more than a little tarnished at its edges. This address was more than tarnished, it was life-worn. He pocketed the note and checked the men’s room to find Starsky. The men’s room was empty. Hutch shrugged walked down to the street. Once again he didn’t find what he expected. Starsky wasn’t leaning impatiently on the Torino; neither was he sitting behind the wheel tapping out an impatient rhythm with his finger. The Torino wasn’t there. Hutch grimaced and walked the half block to his car.   
“Zebra three plain to Zebra three with a stripe.”  
The radio crackled for a while; then silence.  
“ _Zebra three plain, to Zebra three with a stripe._ ” This time he was little more emphatic.  
More static followed before Hutch heard the tell-tale click that indicated that Starsky had been listening before switching off his radio.

_Fuck it; now what’s the matter with him? Hutch banged the wheel in frustration and started the engine. He drove to the address on the slip of paper still fuming against Starsky’s prima donna performances._

Starsky felt like he was on some kind of automatic pilot. He found himself driving into the alley behind The Pits but had no real recollection of wanting to go there. He told himself that some deep instinct was sending him to see if Huggy had any information for him.

Huggy was playing pinball. Starsky leaned over the bar and helped himself to a beer then took up position leaning on the wall to watch for the inevitable moment when the machine would get the better of Huggy. Huggy didn’t look up; he was concentrating on the flippers like a man possessed. “Hey Starsky what’s happening?”  
“I wish I knew.”   
Huggy stood up straight and left the ball to follow its happy progression to the chute. He looked at his old friend and shook his head. “What’s bugging you?”  
“My past, the present, the future; take your pick.” He drained the beer and stood staring at the glass as though he wasn’t sure what he’d been drinking.  
“Go take a seat; Dr Huggy knows the cure for your plight.”  
Starsky wandered over to the pool table. He picked up a cue and started absentmindedly sending the balls into the pockets. Huggy plunked a shot glass on the edge of the table. Starsky shook his head. “No; that’s not what I need Huggy. I’m going home.”  
Huggy watched him leave; he hadn’t seen Starsky look so dejected for a very long time and he wished there was something he could do to help.

Starsky drove home. The voice in his head was still repeating its depressing mantra  _it could have been me_. ‘Yeah, but how come it wasn’t me? What was so special about me that I came home and got my act together? What tripped him over the edge and not me?’

Starsky sat thinking about all that he had gone through. After a while it came to him and he saw how he had to handle things.

 

**********************************************************

Hutch pulled up outside the address he had been given. He couldn’t miss it; 412 in big numbers above the screened out windows of a sex shop. The door to the apartments was to the right of the storefront and he pushed it open. The sign said that the apartments were for rent by the hour, the day, the week or the month; judging by the smell and the debris under the stairs Hutch figured some people were too mean to pay for an hour if they didn’t have to. A door opened above him and he instinctively put his hand inside his jacket and gripped his gun.  
“Hey honey either come up here or go home but don’t be hanging around in the hallway like you scared your old lady gonna find out where you been.”  
Hutch looked up the stairs and spotted a woman standing in the half open doorway of the apartment on the second floor. She saw him.  
“You better get up here before someone smells cop.” She said huskily. Hutch ran up the stairs. “Detective Hutchinson, ma’am.”  
“Well honey I didn’t think you was Superman.” she laughed.  
She pointed to the door across the hallway. “I guess you’ve come to search Joey’s place.”  
Hutch nodded. “I may have a few questions to ask you later.”  
She closed her eyes; put one hand over her ear, “I ain’t seen nothing I ain’t heard nothing and I ain’t telling you nothing.” She closed her mouth firmly to make her point.  
Hutch swallowed his annoyance. “ _You_ called to identify him;  _you_  gave his address; so I guess you will be able to answer my questions. Don’t leave the building.” He held up a finger in warning. She laughed and closed the door. Hutch heard the lock click.

He tried Webster’s door; it was locked but a well-aimed kick by the lock opened it easily enough. Hutch blinked as his eyes grew accustomed to the dim light in the room.   
An ashtray was overflowing on the night stand and Hutch picked up the newspaper clippings from the bed. Webster obviously kept track of his exploits. Hutch glanced around the room and spotted the makeshift gun rack by the door. He looked at the collection of perfectly cleaned and primed firearms. It didn’t add up. Webster had strangled his victims; why did he need four guns? Hutch used a pen to open a drawer of the bureau and gasped. Nestling amongst Webster’s neatly arranged underwear were four more grenades. He looked around for a ‘phone; there wasn’t one. He ran back down to his car and radioed for a lab team and a bomb squad. He ran back up to the apartment and stood staring at the photo-collage on the wall. The photos of the dead women were lined up with precision, the three victims had been crossed out; the remaining photo was of Kira.

Hutch told the team to photograph the apartment from every angle. He continued to sift through Webster’s meager belongings. Something caught his eye on the bureau; it was one of the new miniature tape machines that some journalists and executives used to record interviews and notes. He asked one of the lab team for a glove and pressed the play button.  
Webster’s voice described his stake-out of the last strangulation victim. It seemed too cold and too premeditated for the act of a madman. He gave the machine to the technician. “I want a full analysis of this thing…see if you can find any more tapes.”  
  
Hutch knocked on the door across the hallway; if the whore was still there she wasn’t going to let him in. He swore under his breath and went back to his car. As he drove back to the precinct he planned his line of interrogation. Although he didn’t have the technique that had once earned Starsky the unofficial identity as one of Benny Goldberg’s ‘Persuaders’ he was capable of breaking a reluctant suspect if he had to. He was going to confront Joey with the tape machine; then he’d make the bastard admit that he had planned every murder carefully.  
And that he hoped would be all the DA would need to get him arraigned for murder one.

He went straight down to holding and looked into the cells. The usual night’s harvest of drunks and hustlers was crowded into the confined space – but Joey wasn’t there. Hutch found Pete. “Where is he?”  
Pete looked at Hutch as if he was rookie. “They took him to see the judge this morning and he’s on his way to the county jail by now.” Swearing under his breath Hutch went up to the squad room and spent a couple of hours catching up on unwritten reports and unclaimed expenses. When he had finished he decided to go home.

  
“Zebra three with a stripe to Zebra three plain.” Starsky’s voice filled the car just as Hutch was opening the door.  
“Starsky where are you?”  
“Just about to park in the alley behind Huggy’s – why don’t you come and join me – I’ll buy you a beer.”  
Hutch checked the mirrors and made a U-turn with a little less panache than his partner would have done; and headed for The Pits.

  
Starsky was waiting at the bar. Huggy had served him a beer and Hutch’s glass was waiting for him. Hutch raised it in a toast to his partner. “Am I allowed to ask where you’ve been?”  
“You can ask but I might not answer.”   
Hutch swallowed.  
“Starsky I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you it’s just….”  
“Just what?”  
“I don’t know. I guess she kept coming on to me and I thought she meant it. When you said you loved her and she loved you…I-uh –I wasn’t sure if you were right.”  
Starsky looked at him steadily. “How long have you known me Hutch?”  
“Eleven years.”  
“And in those eleven years how often have you seen me really serious about a woman. I mean serious enough to want to make it something more permanent?”  
Hutch drained his glass and looked to Huggy for a refill. Starsky pushed his over the counter too.  
How often? Hutch had seen Starsky heartbroken over more than one woman before but he knew that there had only been two that he would have married – and they were both dead.  
Starsky still clung to a boyish faith that one day he’d find the perfect woman who would marry him and give him the children that he longed for. Hutch knew his partner would make a good and loving father; reproducing the brief years of happiness he’d known with his own father and endeavoring to live up to what he was sure his dad would have been to him if he’d lived. Hutch envied that. His own father-son relationship was patchy to say the least; and his brief marriage had been mercifully childless. He watched as Starsky drank his beer in one long draught.  
“What are you saying to me Starsk? That I knew what you wanted from Kira and deliberately stepped in?”  
“No; you said that.”  
Hutch sighed.   
“I went to see her after we spoke, you know that? I asked her if she loved you. I had to hear it from her mouth Starsk. And you know what she said? She said yes she loved you but she loved me too. She gave me a lecture on how it’s Ok for a man to sleep around but not for a woman. She was really flying Starsk. And I realized that she didn’t really care about either of us….”  
“But you fucked her anyway!” The words came out with a bitterness that Hutch hadn’t heard for a long time.  
“Starsky don’t do this to our friendship.” Hutch stammered.  
“Don’t do what Hutch? I’m the one who doesn’t know if he can trust his best friend any more.”  
“Does that apply to this investigation too?”  
Starsky put down his glass and looked at Hutch for a second. “I think maybe you know where you want it to go, so I guess I’ll let you handle it your way,” he said before walking out into the alley. Hutch didn’t try to follow him. “Give me another beer Huggy.”  
Huggy gave him a sad look as he refilled the glass; he left Hutch to drink alone.  
 _What is this; is Huggy turning against me too._

  
**************************************************

 

 

Starsky didn’t go home. He drove to the office he had hoped he would never have to visit again in his life.   
He parked and drew a deep breath before walking into the foyer. The elevator took him to the eighth floor and he presented himself to the young female sergeant behind the desk.  
“I’ve come to see Colonel Jameson.” He said flashing his badge.  
“Is he expecting you, Detective?”  
“No, but he’ll see me.”  
She picked up the ‘phone. “Excuse me for disturbing you Sir, but there is a detective out here who wants to see you….” She looked again at the badge, “….Starsky, sir….yes sir…it says Sergeant on his badge sir….oh I see.”  
She handed Starsky his badge. “The second door on the right…Lieutenant.” Starsky winked at her as he walked away. “You don’t need to salute me, Sergeant, I’m not in uniform.”  
Jameson opened the door before Starsky could knock. “I didn’t expect to see you again David,” he smiled as he showed Starsky to a chair.  
The last time the two men had met it was when Starsky had turned down a career in Military Intelligence  
“I need your help.”  
Starsky explained as briefly as he could about the case and about Webster. “I can’t let Hutch nail him without trying to help him.”  
“What do you want from me David?”  
“I need to see his files. And I need a military ID.”

Jameson sat back in his chair and pressed the tips of his fingers together. “What are you up to David?”  
“I want to make sure he gets the right trial; that’s all. Hutch is doing his best to get him nailed for premeditated murder and…”  
“And you don’t think it was premeditated?”  
Starsky shook his head. “Yeah, I mean…he planned the killings, that’s for certain but I think there is something more to it. Ever since we took him in he’s done nothing but repeat name rank and serial number. He was badly injured…I just….”  
“You feel sympathy for him because of what you went through?”  
“I guess so. And I figure that might give me a lever with him. That’s why I need your help. I think he’s doing the name-rank-serial-number routine because he thinks he’s been taken POW. I had an idea. I figured maybe he could be convinced that he’s been rescued and taken for debriefing.”  
“And you would do the debriefing?”  
“Yes.”  
“Let’s see what we can do to help you David. I assume you have his details.” Starsky recited Webster’s serial number.  
Jameson picked up his phone and asked for Webster’s files. He sat and watched Starsky for a moment. “Do you ever regret turning down my offer?”  
“No.”

  
Starsky drove carefully as if the folder on the passenger seat might explode if he braked too hard. He gathered it up and ran up the steps into his house. He threw the folder on the driftwood table in front of his couch and started pulling off his shirt as he walked into the bedroom. Five minutes later he reemerged; he had slipped on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that clung to his muscular torso. His hair was dripping from the shower. All he needed now was a cool beer; he served himself and flopped down on the couch. The first page was Webster’s standard enlistment form. His name and date of birth; next of kin and last address were all noted. The next page gave a brief summary of the first twenty years of his life. Starsky went over to his desk and grabbed a pad and pencil. He noted Webster’s High School. Webster had been working as a mechanic when he was called up; Starsky made a note of his last known employer. As he read through the next few pages Starsky followed Joseph Webster through boot camp; he hadn’t distinguished himself particularly unless you count three stays in the can for drunk and disorderly behavior. Webster’s intake had been shipped to the jungle as soon as basic training was finished. Starsky scribbled a note to himself that they hadn’t even been given a last leave before leaving America. He looked again at the date and understood why. It was a period of intensified military activity and the number of US troops in Viet Nam was about to reach its all-time high. Starsky was already out there. He’d been involved in a raid that went wrong and brought back the remnants of his platoon against all odds. His street-wise instincts had paid off and he was rewarded with a corporal’s stripe. By the time Webster had seen his first action Starsky’s bravery in the line of fire had added more stripes to his sleeve and he was an assigned sharp shooter.  
Starsky read on; sipping his beer and scribbling notes now and then. Despite a couple more incidents with the MPs Joey had somehow ended up a sergeant when he was injured.  
Starsky stopped reading. He wandered into the kitchen and took another beer out of the fridge. He stood with his back against the fridge and drained the can in one draught. He crumpled the aluminum can in his hand and threw it neatly into the trash can in the corner.  
An involuntary shiver caught him off guard; his grandmother always said it meant that a goose walked over your grave.  _What does that mean Bubba? Well Dov it means that your grave is where the geese walk I guess._

There were geese in some of the villages in Nam.

_Maybe the geese walked over their graves._

Starsky’s alarm woke him at three am. Not the new digital display radio integrated alarm that Hutch had given him for his birthday; but the internal alarm that made him sit up sweating and shivering and looking around the room for the cause of his panic. For a moment he was convinced that there was somebody in the house. But after taking a few deep breaths he understood that what he had taken for the sound of footsteps was his own pulse. He slipped out of bed and walked naked to the kitchen. The big cooler glugged comfortingly as he served himself a glass of water. The moonlight was making patterns on the floor throwing shadows making it seem as if the animals drawn on the shade were dancing. He leaned against the fridge; enjoying its cool contact on his skin and drank slowly. Hutch had teased him when he drew the animals on the white canvas before tacking it to the roller. Starsky was ready to believe that the joshing was cover for his klutzy partner’s total inability to repair the slightest problem in his house or car, nor yet make something as simple as a roller shade. He’d tried once to teach Hutch to make a model and given up in despair.  
He finished the water and rinsed the glass under the tap before placing it neatly on the drainer. He went back to bed and slept undisturbed by nightmares or imagined trespassers.

  
*********************************************************

Hutch’s barely constrained anger about Webster kept him awake for much of the night. He wandered around his apartment trying to find ways of distracting himself from the idea that Webster had premeditated three killings and come close to blowing the dance hall sky high. He sat at his piano and picked out a tune; he dabbed a few details on a picture he’d been trying to paint for the past three months. He settled with his guitar and played a few songs…but his heart wasn’t in singing them.  
It was too late, or maybe too early, to go running in the streets around Venice Place. He made a desultory attempt at a little housework. He couldn’t use the vacuum at this time of night but there was plenty of picking up to do. He tidied his living room and went into the bedroom. He couldn’t remember when he’d last changed the sheets and a discreet sniff suggested that the socks under the bed would be ready to walk out and find somewhere else to live if he didn’t deal with his laundry. He looked at the mess. ‘Hutchinson,’ he told himself, ‘Starsky’s right; you are a slob’. Compared with his partner’s almost fanatical neatness Hutch’s domestic habits looked like something out of a frat party movie. He shook his head and resolved, not for the first time, to make an effort. He gathered up his laundry and shoved it into the two pillow covers that he stripped from his bed. He tied the bundle up in one of the sheets and put it by the door ready to be taken to the Laundromat in the morning.  
Dawn was breaking by the time he’d finished tidying the place up. He made a cup of strong coffee and changed into his sweat suit. Five minutes later he was pounding the sidewalks of his block; three circuits at a steady jogging pace. He returned to the apartment and stripped off his running clothes leaving them where they dropped. Then shaking his head and grinning at how easy it was for him to lose a barely formed new habit he put them on top of the laundry bundle and went into the bathroom to stand under a long hot shower.

Hutch didn’t want to leave his stuff unattended at the Laundromat so he called in and explained to Dobey that he wouldn’t be in until later in the morning. The Captain didn’t seem to mind.

Hutch sat and read the paper from cover to cover. He even read the funnies and the sports reports about sports he didn’t like. He tried to do the crossword but got stuck on a bit of trivia that he knew Starsky would have solved quickly. He looked up at the machine. His clothes were no longer rotating in suds. They were no longer rotating at all – but the suds were still there. He checked the program dial, it indicated that all was normal, and then he noticed that the little light marked ‘on’ was off. He looked around for help. And elderly woman was dozing by the driers. “Excuse me ma’am,” she jolted awake and stared at him.  
“Do you know how to….” She cut him off with a stream of some language that Hutch couldn’t identify before she settled down again to sleep. There was no-one else in sight. Swearing Hutch went back to the machine; but it was dead and his clothes were sopping wet and trapped inside it.  
He tapped his fingers to his forehead and swore again. “I don’t fucking believe this!”  
He began to search for a fuse box or something that might help him to diagnose the problem. Finally he found a notice hidden by ads for car-shares and baby sitters. “In case of emergency call 555 789365. Hutch looked around for the ‘phone. The old lady was awake again and carrying on an animated conversation on the phone. Hutch tried to get her to understand that it was an emergency – she pushed him away. He tried again – getting up close to her and staring her in the eye. She hit him with her purse. Swearing again Hutch went out to his car. “Zebra three to control.”  
“Hi Hutch,” it was Mildred, “are you with Starsky?”  
“No. Look Mildred I need to be patched through to a number,” he gave it to her and waited.  
And waited…and finally … ‘the number you are calling is no longer in service’. Hutch suppressed the urge to scream.

Meanwhile Starsky had started his day by dumping his laundry in the washing machine in the garage of his house. He dressed and drove over to Merle’s place; the Torino was due for a ‘check up’.  
“Is Hutch coming to meet you?” Merle asked.  
“Nope. I called for a cab. I have to go to the …uh…dentist.”  
If Merle wasn’t convinced he hid it well. “OK Starsky; you can have her back in a couple of days OK. I see a couple of dinks in the paintwork and I have a great new carburetor system that was made for your car.”  
Starsky grinned and patted Merle on the arm. “I trust you too take good care of the lady in my life Merle.” He turned and walked to the gate where a yellow cab had just arrived.  
“I’ll call you when she’s ready.” Merle shouted. The cab drove away.

The cab stopped outside Al’s car lot and Starsky paid the driver. The other man took his money and looked again at the place with a jaundiced eye. “If you need a car I could take you to a better place than this; I wouldn’t trust anything that came off this lot.”  
“You trusted me didn’t you?” Starsky said with a grin. “I came off this lot - he’s my uncle, I know what I’m doing!”  
The cabbie drove off.

Starsky hadn’t got halfway across the lot when his Aunt Rosa came running out of the office.   
“Davey sweetheart, are you OK? Where’s your car. Oh my god don’t tell me you had an accident …where’s Hutch? Is he hurt? Davey….”  
Starsky took his time to walk over to her; he was grinning widely and almost enjoyed letting her do her shtick as the concerned surrogate Jewish mother. Before she had time to throw her arms around his neck Al had joined them.  
“Everything ok Dave?”  
“Yes everything’s just fine.” He stopped to bend down to kiss Rosa on the cheek. “I’m fine, Hutch is fine and the Torino is fine. So stop panicking Auntie Rosa and put off the emergency call to mom, OK.” She smiled up at him and went back into the office. Al shook his head. “You had to choose the day she comes in to go over the accounts didn’t you?”  
The two men laughed. “So Dave, what can I do for you, and where is that car of yours?”  
“Over at Merle’s having its annual medical; that’s why I’m here. I need to borrow something nondescript but in good condition.”  
“Nondescript?”  
“Yeah, you know; the kind of boring sedan a guy who works for a government agency might drive.” He spotted a black ’75 Chrysler that looked the part. “Like that one over there.” He said.  
Al laughed. “They don’t get more boring than that do they? It’s a good enough car; engine’s fine….”  
“Don’t tell me let me guess; it was owned by a little old widow lady who only used it to go visit her husband’s grave…..in Montana!”  
“Close. It belonged to Madge Flanders.”  
“Is she still alive?”  
“Yes; she stopped driving last month after the Highway Patrol stopped her twice on the freeway.”  
Starsky looked at his uncle carefully. Madge Flanders was a well know character in the neighborhood and as far as Starsky could remember she had always seemed to be at least one hundred years old.  
“She got stopped  _twice_? How old is she anyway?”  
“She’s ninety four.”  
Starsky shook his head; “and she got picked up by the CHiPs twice; what speed was the old bird doing?”  
Al laughed. “Ten miles an hour, in the center lane and not much traffic.”  
Starsky guffawed. “I’ll take it. I’ll only need it a few days and it’ll put some realistic mileage on the clock for you. And I promise you not to get any holes in the paintwork…I’m going undercover but I don’t think I’ll be in any danger.”  
Al led him to the office to find the keys and the car’s paperwork. Rosa was working at the calculator; she looked up and smiled at her beloved nephew. “You’ll come home with us and have lunch won’t you Davey?” Behind her Starsky saw his uncle make a mock gesture of prayer.  
“Sure Auntie Rosa; it will be a pleasure.” He could always pick up some antacid if he had to!

For once Rosa’s food was edible. Starsky drove home without the feeling that he’d swallowed an over-seasoned brick. He changed his clothes and set out for the jail

The Men’s County Jail covered a block and then some and Starsky drove along the familiar walls. He turned into the entrance to the visitors’ parking lot and found a spot close to the elevators. The officer in charge of checking visitor’s ID looked at Starsky for a second before accepting the military ID and admitting him to the waiting area. As he walked away he looked at Starsky again over his shoulder. Starsky smiled and hoped the guy wasn’t going to ask awkward questions. Another prison official appeared a couple of minutes later.   
“Excuse me sir; but we seem to have a problem with your ID.” Starsky looked up from Webster’s file and stared at him steadily. “What kind of problem officer…” he stopped to read the name badge, “…officer Brown?”  
“It’s kind of awkward; your name, sir, we have a Sergeant Starsky from BCPD on the list of persons with automatic access to the jail but….”  
Starsky laughed. “Keep a secret Brown.” He pulled out his BCPD shield and showed it to the other man. “I’m under cover, OK.”  
“OK – but you have to admit the uniform looks pretty genuine.”  
“It is…it’s just the ID that’s a fake.”   
Brown looked confused and Starsky decided he had to explain things better.  
“I’m here to talk to Webster. He’s a Vet and I figured he might be ready to talk to another soldier and not to a cop.” He paused. “Has Hutch been to see him?”  
“No not yet.”

  
Starsky waited in one of the rooms set aside for prisoners to meet with their attorneys, or investigating officers. He made himself comfortable and placed the file on the table. The increasing volume of clanging doors signaled Webster’s approach and when the door opened Starsky stood up and gestured to him to take the chair opposite his own.

Webster was leaning heavily on his cane and Starsky recognized the tight-lipped grimace that indicated a fight against pain. He made a mental note to use it later in the conversation to try to win Webster’s confidence. Webster leaned back in his chair and stared steadily at his visitor.  
“I’ve seen you someplace before.”  
Starsky swallowed. “I don’t think so Sergeant Webster. I was brought in this morning to deal with this debriefing.”  
He waited; watching the other man carefully hoping that his bait had been swallowed.

“Lieutenant David Starsky; Military Intelligence.”  
Webster’s eyes flashed momentary interest before going blank again.  
“Sergeant Webster Joseph 5633498 US Army.”

“I know that Webster.” Starsky snapped a little authority into his voice. He looked into the blank eyes. “I’m here to help you Webster. I’m here to debrief you about the operation and to make sure that you are OK before we release you stateside.”

“Sergeant Webster Joseph 563….help me?”  
Starsky nodded. “We got you out of there in time Webster. From what I understand,” he tapped the file on the table with his finger, “you were lucky to get out alive. We are very impressed that you felt strong enough to volunteer for the special operation.”  
“I was just doing my duty.” He shifted his weight and winced. His prison issue shirt fell open as he leaned forward and Starsky saw the full extent of the burns.  
 _I wonder if Hutch saw that; and if he did, what did he think it was?_  
Deep inside Starsky felt an urge to wise his partner up about burns like Webster’s. His finger went instinctively to the barely visible scar between his eye and his ear.  
Webster spoke again. “Do you mind if I smoke, sir?”  
Starsky grinned and reached into his breast pocket, drawing the other man’s gaze to his row of ribbons; he pulled out a soft pack of Camels and his Zippo and placed them on the table.  
“Help yourself,” he said as he took a cigarette and lit it.  
Webster took a cigarette and Starsky pushed the pack towards him. “I can go buy more.” Webster picked up the lighter and examined it. “Nice work.”   
“Thanks; I did it myself.”  
Webster continued to look closely at the intricate engraving on the Zippo. It was almost a tradition that every man personalized his army issue lighter in some way. Some drew rudimentary skulls and wrote crude slogans against the enemy. Starsky had engraved   
SHALOM in hebrew lettering on one side of the lighter and on the other in tiny carefully written letters a verse from a popular song at the time: …. “one, two, three what are we fighting for…”  
Webster turned it over once more then handed it back.   
He sighed and smoked in silence. Starsky’s instincts told him that he was some way to winning the man’s confidence.   
“Are you getting what you need for the pain Sergeant?”  
Webster looked at him over the tip of his cigarette; “sometimes it hurts so bad…”  
“I’ll see what I can do.”  
“Thank you sir.”

The phone on the wall rang and Starsky stepped over to answer it.   
“Starsky, it’s Brown. Hutch has just driven into the parking area.”  
“Thank you. I’ll be right out.”  
Starsky turned back to Webster. “I have to deal with something important. I’ll be back this afternoon and we’ll talk some more.” He picked up the file and started to the door. Webster hauled himself to his feet and Starsky turned back to look at him. He was saluting. Starsky returned the compliment.

Hutch noticed the soldier stepping into the elevator as he arrived at the entry level. He didn’t take much notice. He checked in and thought Brown seemed a little evasive when he said who he wanted to see. He was shown into the same interview room and sniffed the stale smell of cigarettes disapprovingly. He sat down and waited.

Brown opened the door and shook his head apologetically. “I’m sorry Hutch but he refuses to speak anybody but the guy from Military Intelligence.” Hutch shrugged. He knew he couldn’t force a prisoner or a suspect to cooperate. “Let me know if he changes his mind.” He said as he left the room.  
He returned to his car and tried to decide what his next move should be. Step one would be to see if the lab had found anything on the guns and grenades in Webster’s apartment. He drove back to the Precinct building and parked outside the entrance. There was no sign of the Torino. Starsky wasn’t in the squad room either, but Dobey was and he seemed to be waiting for Hutch.

  
********************************************************************

“Come into my office Hutch.”

Hutch settled in his preferred chair in front of Dobey’s desk. The other seat was taken by Steve Williams from the lab team. He was holding the miniature tape recorder.  
Hutch raised an eyebrow and waited.  
Dobey nodded to Williams.  
“We listened to the full tape.  
Hutch touched pressed a finger to his brow; “and?”  
“And I think you need to listen to all of it. He’s talking to someone else.”  
“Correction; he thought he was talking to someone else.”  
“No Hutch, there’s another voice on the tape; and Webster calls him ‘sir’.”  
Hutch suddenly remembered the fleeting glimpse of the soldier at the jail.  
“Captain, I went over to see Webster this morning; there was a soldier coming out of the place when I arrived. And Webster refused to see me. Do you think there’s a link?”  
Dobey sighed heavily. “I don’t know Hutch. I’ll see if I can find out who the soldier was. Did you get a close look at him?”  
“No, the elevator door was closing I just saw the fatigues…but I’m sure he was genuine; I think I saw medal ribbons – something colored anyway.”  
“I’ll check it out Hutch. Meanwhile listen to that tape and see what you can make of it.”  
“I’d like a transcript of it if possible too Captain.”  
Williams said he had already made a copy of the tape that he could give Hutch and he’d send the original to be typed up.  
“Why not give me the original?”  
“Because it goes in the audio-typist’s machine.” Williams said with a grin. “But I do have something else for you; we got two sets of prints off the thing. One set is Webster’s but I haven’t had time to check the other set.” He handed Hutch the printout of the fingerprints.

An hour later Hutch had gone through all known fingerprints on the BCPD records and was about to request an FBI match when Minnie arrived with the transcript of the tape.  
He took his work home.

The tape started with Webster’s ‘reports’ from the field as he saw it. He described following one of the clip dancers home from the dance hall on more than one occasion. One evening he had been ready to ‘take’ her outside the ballroom but her husband arrived just in time to save her. Hutch recognized it as the night he had spent with Kira when he should have been with someone else.  
Webster continually reported that ‘the spy’ was wearing a wig. At one point he speculated that the woman had also had her eyes corrected by plastic surgery. The bitterness in his voice, when he referred to the woman wearing a blonde wig to hide her natural hair made color made Hutch shudder.   
“Wait a minute,” Hutch said out aloud as if he was discussing it with Starsky, “the girls at the ballroom were wearing dark wigs to cover blonde hair….what’s this guy talking about?”  
He rewound the tape and concentrated on the transcript. He hadn’t misheard. Webster said ‘they wear blonde wigs to cover up their gook hair’.

Hutch listened to more of the tape. He heard Webster trying to reason things out with himself. From the sound of the tape Hutch was pretty sure that he was back in his seedy apartment; there was some kind of music in the background, the sort of music that accompanies the bump and grind of the movies being shown in the store below.  
Webster continued to talk about how the dancing girls were all hookers really and how the hookers were all spies. Hutch was beginning to feel sickened by what he was hearing.  
He was about to stop the tape when he heard the second voice. Hutch listened carefully; he wasn’t sure whether it was a man or a woman speaking.  
 _Did you see her Joey? Did you get a good look at her? You know what to do, don’t you Joey?_  
He ran the tape back again, and again. After the third replay he was pretty sure of what he had heard. He took careful note of the running time point in the tape and rewound the reel.

  
Hutch went straight to Williams’ office. “Can you get a sound analysis of this?” Williams shook his head. “Sorry Hutch, we don’t have that kind of sophisticated equipment here.”  
Hutch sighed and leaned on the door. “Where then?” “You could try the University…no I’ve a better idea, here call this guy and tell him I sent you.” Williams scribbled a name and address on a slip of paper and handed it to Hutch. Hutch grabbed it and ran down to his desk in the squad room.

 

********************************************

 

Starsky was back reading Webster’s file. There were photos of him and other men from his platoon enjoying a little R&R. Starsky recognized China Beach in a couple of the pictures.   
He turned the page. Webster was photographed with a young Vietnamese girl. It was difficult to know how old she might have been; they all looked about thirteen years old – until they looked older than they were.  
They were standing outside one of the clip joints that all the men went to; after a few beers the dancing was horizontal and took place in cabins out back. Starsky smiled as he remembered his own R&R at China Beach.

The photos continued on the next page. Starsky swallowed hard and read the commentary; although he didn’t need to be told what he was looking at. A village in flames; the surrounding jungle burning too; bodies floating in the water contaminating the next rice crop that nobody would be there to harvest. He wasn’t ready for the next picture. The remains of a platoon were saluting as eight body bags were loaded into a truck. One of the men who survived was Webster.  
He closed the file; tomorrow would be soon enough to read the rest; right now he needed company to take his mind off the memories that this file was resurrecting. He changed into jeans and a sweatshirt and drove to The Pits.

  
Huggy looked as though he’d been waiting for Starsky to arrive. He had already placed a beer on the counter by the time his friend reached it. Starsky grinned and drank a slow cool mouthful. He raised an eyebrow at Huggy and said “why do I get the feeling you are going to tell me something?”  
Huggy lit a cigarette and squinted at Starsky as he concentrated on bringing the flame to the end of the Marlboro. “I guess a cop’s pay isn’t enough for you.”  
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Starsky drank again and looked at Huggy across the glass.  
“I saw you.”  
Starsky chuckled. “I guess I can trust you to keep a secret.”  
“If I know what I’m not supposed to know. Hutch is looking all over for you.”  
“He knows where to find me.” Starsky said flatly. Huggy reached across the bar and grabbed Starsky’s arm. “No he doesn’t and that’s bugging him. He doesn’t know if it’s over that bitch or because of this veteran; but he thinks you’re avoiding him.”  
Starsky finished his beer in silence. “It’s a bit of both Huggy. I have to decide how things are between us after what he did…what they did to me. And…”  
“And the vet has gotten to you in some way; am I right?”  
“Yeah. I managed to pull his file from Intelligence and…” He stopped. Hutch was coming down the stairs. Starsky leaned forward. “Don’t let me down.”

Hutch sat on the stool next to Starsky and said nothing for a moment. Starsky sipped his beer; he had no intention of opening the conversation. Hutch accepted a glass from Huggy and turned to his partner. “Why don’t we go sit where we can talk in private?”  
Starsky shrugged. “I don’t have anything to say that Huggy shouldn’t hear.”  
“That’s not what I mean Starsk.” Hutch was struggling to keep the exasperation out of his voice. Starsky caught the tone and slipped his butt off the barstool. He led the way to a booth and called to Huggy to “bring us a jug”; he slid along the seat and waited for Hutch to sit opposite him.

“So, what do you want to talk about?” Starsky asked quietly.  
“I get the impression you’re avoiding me.” Hutch said carefully. “After lecturing me about how we were supposed to be working together the other day, now you aren’t anywhere to be seen. You weren’t there when I searched Webster’s apartment; you don’t seem to be taking any interest in the case. It’s like..like…dammit Starsky it’s like you don’t want to work with me again. And after what you said about trusting me….I…” Hutch was struggling.  
Starsky leaned forward and put his hand on Hutch’s. “Hey; I’m not walking out on you buddy. I don’t plan on busting up our partnership for a long time yet. We’re like an old married couple; we bicker now and then but the truth is we’re stuck with each other ‘til death us do part’ and you know what? That suits me just fine; not that I have plans for parting just yet.”   
Hutch shook his head. “So why aren’t you helping me with this one Starsk? How come you’re not asking me what I’ve found out and where I want to take things next?”  
Starsky looked him straight in the eye. “What makes you think I’m not helping you?”  
The corners of Hutch’s moth turned down in disapproval; “I don’t see you with me when I’m following things up.”  
“Maybe it’s because I’m following things up in my way. Lookit, I said that you and I maybe don’t see this case in the same way. I guess it’s time for me to explain.”  
“Explain what?”  
Starsky sat back against the booth; he watched Hutch’s face for a moment. “I’ve been investigating Webster’s background. I spoke with him yesterday and I think I might break through with him; but I need time.”  
Hutch dry-washed his face and stared open-mouthed at his friend. “Wait a minute. I went to the jail and they told me that Webster was refusing to speak to anyone except some guy from Military Intelligence…” His voice trailed off. Suddenly he remembered the soldier stepping into the elevator; he’d told Dobey that he caught a glimpse of medal ribbons; what he didn’t tell him was that something didn’t add up with the soldier’s appearance. Now he knew what…his hair was too long! He looked again at Starsky; his friend raising his glass in a mock toast.  
“It was you, wasn’t it? The soldier I saw getting into the elevator – it was you.”  
“Good work detective!”  
“But why? Why didn’t you tell me?”  
“Because I didn’t think you’d approve. Because I know you just want to get him arraigned on premeditated murder and go down for life and because I…I think he deserves a fair hearing.”  
“A fair hearing? Starsky I’ve spent most of today listening to tapes of Webster talking to himself; carefully planning every move and staking out each girl before he killed her. If that’s not enough for premeditated murder I want to know what is. And you,“ he pointed his finger at Starsky, “you would normally be the first to one shouting for him to go down.”

Starsky stayed silent for a moment. He was reading Hutch’s face. “OK I accept that he planned it all carefully; but does it occur to you that he’s flipped? He’s gone over the top?”  
“In other words let his lawyer plea insanity.”  
“No. He’s not insane Hutch; just traumatized.”  
Hutch poured himself more beer; he was sure he was going to need it.  _Traumatized! How traumatized do you think the victims’ families are?_ He was about to give voice to his thoughts when he saw that distant look in Starsky’s eyes again.  
“Starsk?” he said quietly.   
Starsky came back to the booth in The Pits from wherever he had been in his mind. Hutch lifted the jug to refill his friend’s glass but Starsky shook his head.  
“Just trust me for another forty eight hours, OK. If I haven’t got anything out of him by then to back up my idea you can have him. Uncooperative or not; and he can go down for the whole stretch in the care of prison warders and his cellmates.”  
Hutch sighed and nodded. “Just keep me posted, OK.”  
Starsky stood up and struggled to get his wallet out of his tight-fitting jeans. He tossed a bill on the table; “beer’s on me.” Hutch watched him leave.

Huggy came over and sat down; he lit a cigarette and exhaled along stream of smoke up towards the ceiling.  
“Why do I get the feeling that Starsky isn’t telling me everything, Huggy?”  
“Because he isn’t telling you everything. And don’t look at me like that Hutch; I ain’t risking the wrath of Curly by letting any cats of bags.  
“But you’d risk my anger?”  
Huggy laughed and drew on his cigarette. “You; you are a pussy cat compared to Starsky when he’s riled!”  
Hutch grinned and raised his glass. “I’ll drink to that.” He finished his beer and went home.

 

 

***************************************

 

 

The file held a horrible compelling fascination for Starsky. He read how Webster had been involved in the rescue of a group of GIs taken prisoner; some of the details were missing from the story but Starsky had an idea of the horrors that the men had gone through before their release. He noted that one of the prisoners was already dead before the patrol got to them and that Webster had personally dealt with the body. Two paragraphs later Starsky learned that the dead man was the nearest thing to a friend Webster had made in the jungle.

He turned the page.   
The next photo sent him running to the bathroom to throw up.

He returned to the couch with a glass of water and sipped carefully as he looked again. The pretty Vietnamese girl was probably six to seven months pregnant to judge by the size of the belly that the bayonet was sticking out of.  
Starsky read the report. Webster had been interviewed by his CO following the discovery of the girl’s body because witnesses had all said that he saw her regularly. He was cleared of any misconduct and it was entered into the record that the young woman’s family members were known Viet Cong collaborators and that she had probably been murdered for her involvement with a GI  
He sighed and put the file on his bureau. He had no appetite and sleep seemed a million light years away. He changed into sweat pants and a T-shirt and pulled on his running shoes.  
The night air was cool on his face as he ran up the hill from his house and into the canyon beyond. He ran for about an hour; listening to the sounds of the night and the steady thump- thump of his pulse. He finally came to a halt outside his house and used the wooden steps to support himself as he stretched his legs and back. His leg was aching and he smiled to himself.  _At least tomorrow I won’t be faking it for his benefit._

The next morning Starsky dressed for the part again. This time he decided to play the role to the full. He looked at himself in the mirror and resisted the urge to salute his reflection.   
He adjusted his jacket and picked up the file on his way out of the house.

Brown led him to the interview room and Webster arrived a few minutes later. He saluted and waited for Starsky to tell him to sit down.   
Starsky opened the file and started to lay the photos on the table. Webster lit a cigarette and stared at the medal ribbons on Starsky’s jacket. “You really saw some action.”  
“So did you.”  
“I never got a Purple Heart.”  
“I wish I hadn’t.”  
The two men exchanged glances. Starsky gathered the photos back into the file and took a cigarette from Webster’s pack on the table. He stood up and paced the room. As he had predicted, last night’s run had taken its toll and his usually slight limp was more than visible today.  
“What happened to your leg?” Webster asked.  
Starsky sat down and stared Webster in the eye. “I’ll tell you if you tell me about yours.”  
“Deal.”  
Starsky told Webster the whole story of how he’d protected a woman and her child during a raid against a village. His companions had turned on him and when he fell down a trap they left him for dead. “The medics found me. I remember screaming at them not to take it off. I was in the hospital for three months before I could walk.”  
Webster shook his head. “But you can walk and run and dance; can’t you Lieutenant?”  
“Yes.” He waited a second. “Your turn.”  
Webster stood up. “Tomorrow; I’ll tell you tomorrow.”  
Starsky tapped the file. “OK. I’ll be back tomorrow; same time; same place.”  
As he waited for the door to open Webster turned; his weight was on the cane and his body seemed twisted. “Why are you doing this?”  
“Because I want to understand why you killed those women; and help you if I can.”  
The door opened and Webster allowed himself to be taken back to his cell.

  
Hutch parked behind the recording studios and found the door. He could hear the steady beat of a bass line and snatches of a rhythm guitar’s riffs; he knocked and waited. The door was opened by a girl dressed in hip-hugging low cut flared pants and a cropped off t-shirt that revealed her midriff and the curve of her hips. She looked at him from behind heavily made up eyelashes and did her best to focus on his badge. “It’s the police!” she yelled as she tried to slam the door in Hutch’s face. He stopped the door with his foot. “I’m not here to raid you; I need to see Bill.” She shrugged and opened the door to let him in.   
Bill was working at the mixing desk; sliding buttons up and down the gauges to balance the drums the two guitars and the singer’s voice. Hutch thought he recognized the singer as an up and coming rock star. He stopped to listen for a moment. For his tastes the bass line was a little too strong. Bill looked up from his work. “So I guess you’re the singing cop and you want to record ‘I got you covered’,” he laughed at his own joke. Hutch handed him the tape.  
“Steve Williams thinks you can help me with this.”  
Bill placed the reel to one side. “First I finish this; then we get your tape into the system; OK?”  
“OK.” Hutch had no choice. Bill spent another five minutes fine-tuning the recording to his satisfaction and Hutch’s musician’s ear told him that the sound engineer was good.   
Bill turned his attention to Hutch’s reel; he threaded it into a player that was connected to an eight track recorder. Once he had transferred the tape he put the eight-track into a player connected to a small mixing table with a long narrow screen. He started the tape. As the tape progressed the graph on the screen flickered and spiked in time with the changes of sound. Although the frequencies changed according to what Webster was saying – peaking for ‘s’ and other high pitched sounds – even Hutch could see that there was a steady line too. Bill pointed to it.   
“You could say that’s his personal base line; the frequency that characterizes his voice from someone else’s. It comes from the vocal cords and although you can make your voice go up and down the scale, you can’t change your basic register. By your voice I’d say you sing more as a tenor; even if you tried falsetto or bass that line would be constant. It’s like a voice fingerprint.”  
Hutch nodded; it sounded suspiciously like a physics lesson that he’d either never had or wasn’t listening to at the time. The tape continued and the base line stayed on its frequency.

_Did you see her Joey? Did you get a good look at her? You know what to do, don’t you Joey?_

Hutch watched the gauge closely….the base line didn’t change. That was all he needed to see. He thanked Bill for his help and retrieved the tape.

Once again the plain Zebra put out a call for its striped companion. Once again the silence was deafening. He sighed and drove back to the precinct to tell Dobey what he had learned. He would have liked to share it with Starsky but it would have to wait.

The radio squawked with static indicating that someone was looking for him.  
“Control to Zebra Three.”  
Hutch lunged at the microphone as if trying to stop the message from escaping him. “Yes, Zebra Three to Control; Mildred?”  
“Hutch I have a patch through for you from Starsky.”  
“Put him on.”  _Talk to me buddy_  
The radio crackled a couple of times and the static squawk announced that the patch was established.  
“Hutch, I’m at the jail; I think you should hear this.”  
“What have you got Starsky?”  
“Just get over here, OK.”  
Starsky sounded impatient.   
“Ok I guess I need about twenty minutes.”  
“Hit the siren and get here in ten. He’s cooperative now but I don’t want to push it. Where are you anyway?”  
Hutch gave his location and Starsky told him a couple of short cuts to use. Hutch leaned over and found the Mars light under the passenger seat; he flung it onto the roof praying that it would stick first time. Satisfied that his visual warning was functioning he hit the siren and sped along the streets and alleys that Starsky had told him to use.  
“Shit!” One of the streets was one way and Hutch was not going in the same direction as the only other vehicle in sight – a garbage truck. He swerved to avoid it and heard the crash and tinkle of broken glass as the Mars light slid off the roof of his car. “Shit shit; must have put it on the dent again!” He drove on and a memory of a similar drive years ago took some of the tension out of his drive.  
 _Whoa whoaaaa; watch out this is one way!  
I’m only going one way Hutch  
Yes but…Starsk watch out! The other guys are going the other way!_

He arrived in front of the County Jail building and followed Starsky’s instructions to park in the visitors’ area. He scanned the garage but could see no sign of the Torino.  
Brown was waiting for him; he led Hutch to a room where he could watch Starsky and Webster through a two-way mirror.  
Hutch sat down.

Starsky was in his full Army uniform. Hutch had seen him dressed like this once before when his friend had testified in front of a Court Martial against the men who had tried to blind him to avoid being arrested for their roles in an atrocity in Viet Nam. Once again Hutch noted the Lieutenant’s bar and the row of medal ribbons in his partner’s chest. This time Starsky had another insignia; Hutch didn’t recognize it and he made a mental note to ask Starsky what it was later.

He settled back in his chair and watched and listened.

“Tell me about the operation, Webster.” Starsky’s manner was abrupt.  
Joey lit yet another cigarette and to Hutch’s amazement Starsky joined him.

“We were in the back country; we had a big raid coming up. They gave us some R&R time first.”  
“China Beach?”  
“Yes.”  
“I recognized the bar in one of the photos.” Starsky said something that Hutch didn’t understand – the name of the bar maybe. “The girls were pretty good there weren’t they?” Starsky said with a leer.  
Webster drew on his cigarette. “Some of them were better than others.”  
“I never went for the ones who tried to look western.” Starsky continued; he laughed, “I guess I kind of went native.” He looked at Webster; eye to eye. “Did you have a regular choice?”  
Webster turned away. Starsky leaned forward; his voice hardened and Hutch recognized the change of register.  
“I asked you if you had a regular girl; Sergeant Webster.”  
“Yes. Yes sir.”  
“What happened?”  
Silence.  
Starsky tapped the file on the table. “I’ve seen the photographs and I’ve read the report Webster. But something doesn’t add up here.” He leaned back in the chair. “So, I’m asking you to tell me the truth now.”  
Webster stared ahead and said nothing.  
“OK,” Starsky said in a low voice, “I’m ordering you to tell me what happened.”

Webster stood up. “I need to move my leg.”  
“Go ahead.”  
Webster stared to pace the room and Starsky sat quietly. Hutch waited as patiently as he could. This cat and mouse game was pissing him.  
“I’ll tell you about my leg” He said as he sat down again. “Then maybe I’ll answer more of your questions.” Starsky nodded.

“The raid was planned well in advance. We knew where the Congs had an anti-aircraft gun set up. They’d taken out a couple of our planes and a gunship.  
We went out on the raid. The gooks appeared from nowhere. I mean one minute there was nothing and then there they were.” He stopped. Starsky said nothing but from behind his glass wall Hutch could feel his friend holding his breath.

“Tunnels?” Starsky said quietly?  
“Yes.” Webster was still not ready to go on.

Years ago Starsky had told Hutch about the tunnels. They were staking out the Chinese Tunnels in the city at the time and when Starsky had started talking about tunnels Hutch had braced himself for one of his partner’s never-ending recitations of trivia. Instead he had been given a lesson in warfare.  
 _They dug great networks of tunnels and they knew how to keep them secret. There was one airbase; they dug their tunnels right underneath it; and then they’d pop up and shoot someone or throw a grenade now and then. Security sent search dogs down there; but they came back with a big blank. After the war was over they found out that the Congs were stealing soap from the base stores – that’s why the dogs drew a blank. They thought they could smell GI!  
But they were clever Hutch. You’d be out there; working your way through the jungle ready for anything and bang! One of ‘em would be there in front of you with his machine gun. I know some patrols sent napalm down tunnels …_

Hutch came back from his reveries. Starsky was talking to Webster in a low voice. “Is that how you got the burns?”  
“Yes. We thought it would flush them out, but there was blowback. I was one of the lucky ones. But it took me out of the war for good. The burns destroyed the nerves to my leg.”

The two of them sat in silence for a while and Hutch noticed that Starsky was absentmindedly fingering the scar by his eye.

“Let’s get back to the girl in the photos Webster.” Starsky suddenly broke the silence. It was a trick he had learned a long time ago to catch his adversary off-guard. For a moment he thought it hadn’t worked. Webster stared at the ceiling.  
“Which girl?”

Hutch remembered the photo in the apartment; a pretty Vietnamese girl standing with Webster. He looked happy.

Starsky was moving in for the kill. Hutch could see it in his eyes. “The girl in this photo.” He pushed a copy of the same photo that Hutch had seen across the table. Webster looked at it and lit another cigarette. Starsky hadn’t finished. “And in this one too…”

Hutch fought back the nausea when he saw the corpse.

Webster blew smoke to the ceiling. “Whore. Lousy fucking gook traitor whore.”  
“Tell me about her. She wasn’t murdered by her family was she? The report is wrong isn’t it?”  
“I thought she was genuine. She didn’t wear a blonde wig and she didn’t try to make her eyes look round with makeup. She was totally natural…and beautiful. I didn’t start out to get involved with her; but you know how it is.”  
Starsky nodded.  
“I didn’t tell her anything but I guess she got closer than I thought when I was with the guys.  
The gooks were waiting for us. They’d already captured a forward patrol. We circled the village; the people were all gathered in the clearing – the gooks made them watch. By the time we got there it was too late. God, what those bastards did….”  
“I can imagine. I saw some pretty awful stuff too.”  
Again Starsky said something in a low voice and Hutch didn’t catch it all.

“So you took your revenge.”  
“I didn’t find out for a while. She was soft and sweet and we saw each other a lot. She lived in a village near the base. Bitch!”

“And when you found out, you killed her. Was the child yours?”   
“Yes. Bitch, she made me kill my child!”

“And that’s why you took on the special operation?”   
“Yes Sir. They were operating out of a clip-joint; fake blondes to fool the lonely GIs….I took three of them out.” He spent the next fifteen minutes proudly recounting his one-man clean-up operation against the imagined spies.

  
Hutch picked up the phone and pressed the button that made a light flash on the extension in the interview room. Starsky stood up and walked across the room; “yes?”  
“Ask him where the bar is.”  
“I see. Yes I agree. I’ll see to it immediately.” He replaced the handset on the cradle of the phone and glanced at Hutch through the mirror as he returned to his chair.  
“I have to leave now Webster.” He took his time gathering the photos and papers back into the file.  
As he opened the door to leave Starsky turned and looked at Webster with a deadpan expression. “One thing Webster; what was the address of that bar? You know; the one the spies operated out of.”  
Webster didn’t hesitate. He gave the address of the ballroom in Bay City.   
Starsky smiled. “Thank you. That’s just what I needed to close the file. I’m all finished here Webster. I’ll put in a recommendation that you get the medical care you need.” He closed the door.  
Webster slammed his hand onto the table and swore violently. He knew that Starsky had just called his bluff.

The door opened behind Hutch and Starsky stepped into the room.   
“Give me time to go home and slip into something more comfortable and I’ll join you at Huggy’s.”

*******************************************

 

 

The Pits was crowded and noisy; Hutch was already nursing a drink when Starsky arrived dressed in his favorite faded jeans and a pale blue, hooded sweatshirt. He beckoned Hutch to a corner where they could at least hear each other.

Hutch wasn’t sure whether to congratulate Starsky or not. He had managed to get a full confession out of Webster – but he had also provided sufficient grounds for a plea of temporary insanity and mitigating circumstances. Starsky’s report was already in the DA’s hands; and it would be weeks before the trial.

Hutch was still troubled by some of the things he’d heard, or hadn’t heard, in the jail.  
“What did you say to him?  
“When?” Starsky sipped his tequila and gave Hutch the full innocent blue-eyed look as he lowered his long lashes.  
“You know. You said something too quietly for me to hear…something about what the Goo... the Congs did.”  
“You don’t want to hear it Hutch.”  
“Yes I do. It has something to do with the way you are and they way you dealt with this case. I have a right to know.”  
Starsky stood up. “Not here. Come back to my place.”  
Hutch followed him out of The Pits. “Where’s your car?” Starsky pointed to the black sedan.  
“The Torino is having its annual medical; Uncle Al lent me that.” Hutch laughed. “When do you get the Tomato back?”  
“Now. You can follow me to Al’s and then we’ll go over to Merle’s.”  
Hutch followed Starsky to Al’s used car lot. He stayed in the car and watched as Starsky handed over the keys and said something to his uncle that made them both laugh.

The Torino was gleaming. Merle had repaired the paintwork and waxed the bodywork. Starsky almost skipped over to his car.   
 _He looks like a lovesick kid running to his girlfriend_. Hutch thought and the idea of Starsky returning from Viet Nam to his beloved car ran through his mind.  _Except back then he came home in no fit state to drive_.

The Torino’s engine had a new deeper growl. As he slipped in behind it even Hutch could see that the exhaust pipes were a little bigger than before; he didn’t know enough about engines to understand what that meant. He followed Starsky home.

Starsky poured generous shots of whisky for each of them. He settled into his armchair and waited for Hutch to get comfortable on the couch.

“Ok what do you want me to tell you?”  
“About what the Viet Cong did to their prisoners. About what you told Webster. Oh and while you’re about it; maybe after all these years you’ll tell me how you really did get that scar.”

Starsky sipped his drink.  
“OK. One day a patrol didn’t come back to the camp. I was one of the guys sent to find them. We walked for about two hours and then we heard the screaming. We followed the noise to a village. The place was deserted; they had done what they wanted and left – the villagers probably went with them to be safe from us. As we went through the outskirts of the village we found some of the men dead; they’d obviously been killed in the fight. Then we found the others. We were too late. The bodies were in a row; their hands had been tied behind their backs and they each had a bullet in the back of the neck. Except the Lieutenant who had led them. The Congs had given him special treatment.”  
Starsky drained his glass and refilled it. He leaned forward to refill Hutch’s and looked his friend in the eye. “Sure you want to hear this?”  
“Yes.”  
“They’d tied him to a beam. They must have done that first- because we heard the screams.”  
Hutch gulped at his glass and served himself again. “What do you mean?”  
“They’d gagged him; they used his dick to choke him to death.”

Hutch gagged and ran to the bathroom.

Starsky came into the bathroom and handed Hutch a glass of water. “I guess you don’t want to hear how I got the scar.”

Hutch shook his head.  
“That’s what you told him; that’s why he trusted you.”  
“No.”  
“You told him about your leg…how you nearly lost it.”  
“No.”  
“Oh come on Starsk!”  
“I told him what’s been haunting me ever since I saw him throw the grenade. I saw the anger in his face; and I knew…I understood….”  
“What?”  
“It could have been me. Remember what you said about other Vets coming home and not killing people? And I teased you and said that some of them ran with the pack before becoming cops. I meant it Hutch. I guess when I worked for Benny it was my way of putting it out of my mind. And I did. I got over it. I straightened out my life. But Hutch; all my life whenever I see a Vet who cracked; who didn’t settle back into ‘normal’ life, I’ll hear that voice saying ‘it could have been me’.”

Hutch couldn’t think of anything to say. He reached out to Starsky and touched his arm.  
“I’m glad it wasn’t.”  
Starsky flashed his lopsided grin; “so am I.”  
“Now we have to discuss our other problem while we are still sober enough to do it.”  
“What problem is that?  
“Kira. What do we do about Kira?”  
“You got her note huh?”  
“Yes.”  
“When and where?”  
“The Pits tomorrow at six.”  
“Me too.”  
“I have an idea.”  
Hutch listened to Starsky’s plan and giggled as the scotch found his brain.  
“You can be really devious when you want to be; did you know that?”  
“I guess that’s why they offered me job in Military Intelligence.”  
Hutch shook his head. The scotch had found his brain but he didn’t think he was hearing things. “Why didn’t you take it?”  
“I’d had enough of wearing a uniform. Yeah I know I ended up in BCPD blue; but I knew that wouldn’t be forever.”  
“I’m glad you turned them down.”  
“Me too. Have another drink. You can sleep on the couch.”

 

 

****


End file.
